Song of the Willows - The Lake - Central Park - New York City

- By Vivienne Gucwa
When the summer sun has drifted low into the sky after every bit of earth has been soaked in its warm splendor, the trees hang their heads down in mournful remembrance of winter's impending icy touch.
And the willows play a slow and deliberate adagio to accompany the last of summer's lovers on the sweetest sun-kissed wings of the wind.
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Spring Blossoms Overlooking the Central Park Reservoir - New York City

- By Vivienne Gucwa
On Spring mornings, the world hangs in sleepy stasis.
Trees, adorned with blossoms as soft as winter's first snow, use their branches to gracefully conduct the world's awakening in a daily symphony at dawn.
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I am admittedly a night person. I have tried for years to trick my stubborn body into accepting a different biological time-clock to no avail.
However, on days when I am carefully trying to get myself to accept the mornings as a friend and not a foe, I am always amazed at how differently the world appears especially during certain times of the year like springtime. On a perfectly cloudy Spring day in Central Park, it's as if the world is opens up its dewy eyes one by one as the city stretches out languidly for a few hours.
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There are moments that remain etched into time: moments that aren't easily forgotten no matter how much time passes between the yawning gaps in between memory and dreaming.

The ability to capture uniquely experienced moments is at the core of photography. Cameras become jars with which to capture moments that flicker like fireflies.

Photographers are moment collectors and dream catchers.

Every collected moment and every captured dreamscape is the result of the tiny flicker that catches the photographer’s eye in such a profound way that it becomes an impossible feat to deny the urge to embrace the moment by capturing it in a photo.

Summer's memories sit suspended like words caught in the throat of winter: stifled, muffled utterances barely able to escape in the form of speech.

But in the wide open expanse of dreams, words take flight as summer's memories break through the shards of branches conjuring up the outline of buildings and cityscapes on the condensation of winter's frozen breath.